She wore the same dress and shoes, the same jewelry glittered in the night, and she leaned over to gaze in the front passenger window at me. I watched as her silver nails tapped the glass.
I opened the window and listened as she made the same request I’d heard before. If anything, she was more beautiful. She seemed to glow in the halogen light cast by streetlamps. I wanted to drive away. I wanted to pretend none of this happened. I couldn’t. Because I noticed one big difference in her appearance. I could see through her. It was as though she was fading away, disappearing into the darkness like a vision.
I held her purse out to her, my hand shaking violently. She looked at it. Then she looked at me. Her hand seemed to float into the car and her long fingers closed around the glittery strap.
“I can’t give you a ride,” I stammered. “I’m off duty.”
She studied me with icy blue, almost transparent eyes. “I need a ride.”
Her fingers were resting on the window. Without thinking, I hit the auto switch and watched it rise. It should have caught her fingers. It didn’t. The tips seemed to linger inside the car for seconds before fading away like fog burning off at dawn. Then she straightened and walked back toward the building.
Shadows converged on her; shadows shaped like the figures of several men. She looked back at me imploringly before being absorbed into the night, the darkness swallowing her like a hungry beast with a sweet treat.
I hit the gas. My bladder suddenly felt as though it would explode but I wasn’t going to stop. I ran red lights and stop signs. I didn’t stop until I squealed into my parking space. Jumping out of my car I felt a hot stream spread across the front of my jeans and down my leg. Stumbling up the stairs, I barely made it to the shared bathroom before I bent over the porcelain God and made a deposit. I heaved long past the point my stomach had emptied. Looking into the mirror over the sink I saw a stranger looking back. The terror etched on my face, leaving it white with eyes as black and frightened as the proverbial deer in the headlights, was enough to cause me to retch again.
When I was finally steady enough to make it to my room, I sat on my bed and booted up my laptop. Checking the news, I saw her. It was an artist’s drawing because no news outlet would post a photo of a dead person. “Do You Recognize This Woman?”. I recognized her, but I had no idea who she was. I knew someone who would recognize her.
Part Four
I didn’t sleep that night. I sat at my window, staring out at the back of the house behind us. She had died from an overdose of something called gamma hydroxybutyric acid mixed with a copious amount of alcohol. She had been sexually assaulted by several men. Any information could be given anonymously.
It was just past dawn when I walked to the nearest gas station. I could have driven, but somehow getting into my car made me uneasy. There was a pay phone outside the attached convenience store. I called the number I had copied from the news article. A gruff-voiced police detective answered and I told him I had seen her with five men. I described them. Then I told him I knew one of the men and gave the address where I had dropped her off. Hanging up before he could ask me any additional questions, I wiped the phone with the front of my shirt and walked home.
I imagined Mrs. Roger answering the door, still wearing that flannel robe. I envisioned Roger, protesting, denying. He looked the type who wouldn’t hesitate to turn on his companions. He wouldn’t go down alone.
After not driving for almost a week; avoiding my car like a rotten bag of garbage I knew I had to take out, I made myself get into the driver’s seat. I drove straight to Reasonable Ron’s Used Cars and traded the Honda in for a more recent model of a Toyota.
I decided being a Transporter wasn't the job for me. Returning to the job boards I took another swing at call centers and lucked out. By the first week in January I was selling magazine subscriptions to housewives, old folks, and lonely people who were happy to have someone to talk to on their seldom ringing phones.
The story broke on a Friday afternoon. I was in the breakroom and the television was on low. A couple of the girls who worked the phones with me got up to turn channels just as Roger’s picture flashed on the screen.
“Hey, Ashley isn’t that the guy who tried to pick you up at The Chirping Cricket just before Christmas?”
“Oh him. Yeah, he kept trying to buy me a drink like I was some idiot. I had him pegged.”
“You were right. He drugged some girl and killed her.” With that, she turned on some talk show. I went back to the phones.
Roger and four of his buddies had apparently picked Silver Lady up at the same bar where he’d tried to hook up with Ashley. She was a working girl and should have known better. Roger wasn’t her first “date” of the evening. Not only did they fill her up with drugs and booze, they took turns using her savagely. Then they used her money to pay a car service to take her to the hospital. They swore they thought she was just unconscious, they never meant to kill her. There was no sense in Roger trying to deny his involvement. Her silver evening purse was found under the front passenger seat of his car. He swore repeatedly she had never been in his car. Maybe that was true while she was alive. But somehow, she had found his Beemer and left evidence for the police.
A request went out for the taxi driver who had dropped her off at the hospital. It was a request I would ignore. I only hoped Silver Lady was resting in peace. Because if she wasn’t satisfied with what I had done, she might just show up at my door one night looking for a ride.
Part Five
I had pushed the incident to the back of my mind. Yet, when I would roll into bed at night, she would invade my dreams, lips slightly parted, arms outstretched. If it was possible she was even more beautiful. I tried to tell myself the dreams didn’t mean anything. Little by little, I would wake in the middle of the night, heart racing, sheets clenched in my fists, and breathing as though I had run the hundred-yard dash. It wasn’t long before my grades started to drop.
I suspected she wanted me to go to the police. I toyed with the idea. But it had been weeks since the incident. The police might suspect I had something to do with her death. They might want to take my DNA to see if it matched any of the samples found on her body. It was the DNA they would find in her body that concerned me. As I said, she was beautiful. She was unconscious. That dress left nothing to the imagination. Her panties were long gone, no doubt removed by her five dates. I never noticed the glitzy purse. I was too focused on her; her full lips, her slim hips, and those long legs. I never claimed to be perfect. I’m just a nerdy college guy trying to make a few bucks and get through school.
By the second week in February I was only sleeping one to two hours a night. Valentine’s Day rolled around and campus parties overflowed with revelers. I wasn’t one of them. I was in my new car driving through that business neighborhood. I passed The Chirping Cricket and watched scantily dressed girls tumbling out the door, jocks whistling and chasing them down, couples lip locked on their way to the privacy of dorm rooms, the back seats of cars, and, the more fortunate ones, apartments or private rooms.
As I turned down the same street where it had all started I saw her. She wore the silver dress and stood at the curb as though she had been waiting for me. I tried to swallow but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t. My breathing was fast and shallow and I was sure I would hyperventilate and pass out. My heartbeat drowned out any sounds there might have been outside the car.
I slowed to a stop beside her. She leaned over and looked through the window at me. My Silver Lady was still a looker. “I need a ride.”
Was it wrong that I still wanted her? Was I evil because I hungered for the soft touch of her silky skin, that I wanted to inhale the spicy-sweet scent of her perfume? I popped the door lock and she got into the front seat. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. And, as her mouth came closer to mine, I knew her image would follow me through eternity as we did that crazy dance we’d begun in the back seat of my car on a cold winter night. She was my Valentine�
��s date and she always would be. I owned her. I had bought and paid for her when I’d held my hand over her mouth to drown out her protests, her screams weeks earlier. We were locked forever in my car.
That’s how the police found me the next morning. The only evidence left behind was a pair of silver shoes, the thin beaded strap on one, broken, leaving a dazzling stream of stones on the floor of my car.
Tell it to The Rose
By Mara Reitsma
Lost in the dark and feeling alone,
most of her patrons are far from their homes.
With minds filled with fog and lives left in tatters,
they drink to forget what truly matters.
Mugs filled with Whiskey, Spirits and Beer,
whatever it takes to drown all their fear.
Slaves to temptation and cheeks filled with tears,
each with a bounty to tease Petal’s ears.
Some come for a drink, to chat with old friends, some come for a laugh,
before the night ends.
Some come for the comfort hidden deep within her walls,
and behind closed doors at the end of her halls.
It’s not just the drinks, that drive them in droves, it’s the
Petals themselves, that work at the Rose.
Want sweet and subtle, or fierce and filled with might,
whatever your preference, you’re sure to find delight.
Deep inside this place most brazen,
rests a lovely, little, sinful haven.
Each Petal a gift, a sight for sore eyes,
each night a different dream for one to fantasize.
Locked in the illusion of a Petal’s embrace,
your body will tingle and your heart will start to race.
Her touch will trap you and make you her slave,
your will letting go, as she gives what you crave.
No man can deny a Petal’s voice,
for it creeps under his skin and leaves him no choice.
With lips like silk and curves to adore,
there was nothing a man on the edge, wants more.
For some, all they wish it to give themselves ease,
with a Petal so lovely, knelt down on her knees.
For others, that is not what entices their desire,
the pleasure they seek, drives their needs even higher.
A Petal for each, no matter the dream,
for no soul went without, no fantasy unseen.
A romantic night out, or sin filled tryst,
lost in the forest with a whore in the mist.
A palace filled with Ladies, a ball with gowns so tight,
and a sultry dance that leads to a kiss,
beneath the moon’s exotic pale light.
Aboard a spaceship, lost among the stars,
their bodies full of a need and slung against the bars.
An exotic adventure, enough to tickle your fancy,
a Petal’s one and only duty, is to keep her thorns from getting antsy.
No matter the lifestyle, no matter the pose,
no care in the world, save which Petal they chose.
Every Petal, filled with sin,
with hopes their minds will let them in.
Bodies filled with passion, and minds ripe to explore,
Lost amid sin and greed, the Petals will, find the door.
Deep inside one’s mind, locked away where no one can see,
are the darkest secrets known to man, and through his need, was the key.
The Petals seek to unlock their thoughts,
with temptation as their guide,
all would succumb to their sinful will and
reveal the secrets kept inside.
So, come with me, and you’ll see,
how the sins, they run so deep,
come with me, and you’ll see,
how the secrets roam so free.
Come on down, to the Rose,
and see the magic it beholds,
come hide away from the cold,
and tell a Petal all your woes.
Love from the Other Side Page 18
